


Bonfire Hearts

by perkynurples



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Rating Definitely WILL Change, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perkynurples/pseuds/perkynurples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn wakes up. People are kind to him. This is unprecedented. But at least there's Poe to show him around the base, make him scrambled eggs when he needs them most, and let him wear his jacket for a while longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rey leaves, and the base becomes quieter again. She tells him, no, asks him, _please, take care of him,_ shortly before she has to go, both of them sitting by Finn’s bedside, and Poe barely has enough time to make a promise he was planning on keeping even before she brought it up, and he’s called away, and the last thing he sees is Rey pressing a kiss to Finn’s forehead, and he thinks, _hope._

He knows it’s there in Rey, something that makes people turn their heads and watch her, something that _promises_ – he doesn’t quite know enough about anything that went down on the surface of the Starkiller while he was in the air, but Rey recaps the story, still half panicked and barely coherent, and Poe sees it in the General’s eyes, even though she _is_ , after all, learning about her family crumbling even further. It’s hope.

They meet by Finn’s bedside later, Rey and him, and she tells him quietly about how he came back for her when she thought he wouldn’t, and Poe says, _I know._ He likes her well enough, small and lithe and strong in a way one can feel rather than see, and he’d like to get to know her better, but there is a lightsaber strapped to her side, and hers is the kind of hope that will take her somewhere very far from here, at least for now.

And so Poe wishes her the best of luck, sincerely, and she smiles so brightly he immediately understands Finn wanting to literally plunge headfirst into the very lair of evil just to save her. And then Poe leaves, because she seems to have something else on her mind, something that’s not meant for him to hear just yet.

But he returns, and not just once – not because he has a promise to keep, but because that’s where _his_ hope is found. In the face once hidden underneath a standard issue white stormtrooper mask, and Poe seems to need to come look at it over and over again to believe it.

He felt it, like a powerful surge reanimating his tortured body, when Finn first took that mask off, _I’m getting you out of here!,_ help coming from the least expected place, and it came not because Poe asked for it, but because some kid decided he wasn’t going to submit anymore. Because the rigorous and no doubt absolutely horrendous training he went through, didn’t extinguish _something_ in him. Because he wanted to do the right thing.

...And because he needed a pilot, but Poe decides to believe in all those other things as well.

 

The First Order now know of the vague location of their bases, and so everybody’s on high alert, and until they decide what to do, where to relocate, Poe spends more time in the cockpit than he does on solid ground, but he still comes back, takes the detour (and often, his dinner) to the med bay day after day to check on Finn.

The rise and fall of his chest is steady, but so is the beeping of the machines that help keep him alive, and the doctors tell Poe, _it’s only a matter of time,_ but how long, no one can tell _._ Apparently once you actually _survive_ a lightsaber to the back, your chances might be anywhere from miniscule to surprisingly good, and Finn is still oscillating somewhere in the middle.

“When he decided to break you out back then, did he tell you what made him do it?”

The General has a knack for appearing out of nowhere when he least expects it, and before he has the time to stand up in a greeting, there’s a soft but firm hand on his shoulder, urging him to stay just the way he is, and she stands next to him, intent eyes on Finn, then him, then Finn again.

“Not really,” Poe replies, “he just said it was the right thing to do.”

“Mmm. The only time I was saved by a stormtrooper, it was actually my brother in disguise,” she chuckles, but something in the tone of her voice bothers him still.

“You’re not still suspecting him of...? After everything he’s done for us?”

She arches her eyebrows in such genuine surprise that he immediately feels guilty, and actually laughs shortly, which is in turn a bit comforting.

“Always so quick to jump to conclusions,” her smile has the faintest scolding edge to it, “of course I don’t think he’s a First Order spy, Poe, do you?”

There are tiny beads of sweat on Finn’s forehead and neck, and it’s seeping into the hem of the light shirt somebody thought to provide him with, the thin fabric clinging.

“...He would have to be really deep undercover,” Poe grumbles, slumping in his chair somewhat, and she squeezes his shoulder gently, laughing some more.

“Exactly. I have all the faith in him, don’t worry.”

“So do I,” Poe says, and it probably comes out a bit too earnest – he stiffens up, and she doesn’t comment, but he can _sense_ her smirking.

“Sometimes,” she remarks, “we get lucky, you know.”

She just lost her husband, _to her son,_ and half her air force was massacred, the location of their home base most likely compromised, and yet there she stands, in the deceptively calm quiet of the med bay, and smiles like she means it.

“We do?” Poe inclines his head.

“Most often, when we lose something, we tend to gain something else. Could be the ten seconds of the upper hand in a fight that we have right now, or the stormtrooper deciding he isn’t going to obey anymore, or the girl picking up a lightsaber.”

“The Force works in mysterious ways?” Poe suggests, and _that_ laughter is almost delighted.

“Something my brother is far more likely to say than I am. No, I think it’s just life’s way of repaying us for all the awful things it puts us through. Catching a break, right before even more awful things come our way. Cheer up. And eat your dinner, you know it tastes so much worse when it’s cold.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Poe sighs, and listens to her footsteps fading in the distance, before finally stabbing his ration with his fork.

“You’re so lucky you don’t have to eat this stuff,” he mumbles with his mouth full, and it’s probably a good thing Finn remains unconscious, because the faces Poe makes throughout battling with that dinner aren’t a pretty sight.

 

-

 

He dreams of white, of the flash of neons and the hum of a planet kept alive by machinery – then of swirling orange sand and blood all over his visor, of wide eyes, innocent eyes, in the cross-hairs of his gun.

He thinks he’s being burned alive, the sweat down his spine setting him ablaze, the frantic beating of his heart only kindling the fire.

The weapon in his hands fires without him pulling the trigger, and his scream is wordless, silent. He claws at his mask, but it won’t come off, it’s welded in place, and he’s going to suffocate, he’s going to die like this.

He recognizes the person before him now, her jaw set tight, _you came back too late,_ the lightsaber coming alive in her grip, a dizzying blue, and his gun fires without him commanding it again, and the determination in her face is replaced by shock, then fear, then a blank nothing.

 

Finn wakes up with a jolt and Rey’s name a hoarse shout barely making it past his lips, and his body attempts to propel him upward, but he’s chained to whatever bed he’s lying in by a dull, heavy pain spreading all over his back and stealing his breath away.

“Hey, hey, whoa! You’re okay, relax.”

It takes him a moment to focus enough to realize that he _knows_ that voice, and even longer to assign it to a specific person.

“...Poe?” he tries, and yeah, that’s him, appearing in Finn's field of vision, all comfort and a warm smile, and Finn looks from him to his own hands, and they're blissfully empty.

“You're fine,” Poe insists, “had a bit of a close encounter with a lightsaber, from what I hear. What were you thinking?”

He sounds amused, and Finn finds that looking at his face is a good idea – it helps his heartbeat settle down, apparently.

He remembers it, the snow and the blinding red and blue light, and the dangerous buzz of the sabers colliding, and... what _was_ he thinking?

“Rey...?” he asks, which is proving an increasingly difficult task, since his throat feels like it got too close to a lightsaber itself.

“She's okay, too,” Poe grins, “Artoo woke up, and he had the last bit of the map with him – so they were able to piece it together, and Rey decided to go after Luke Skywalker herself, which, I don't know about you, but I say leave the guy to his retirement for a while longer, eh? No, yeah, I know, I know, we need him. Rey needs him... And you look terrified. Sorry, I rambled. I'll go get a doctor.”

“No, I-” Finn tries, then has to go through the anguish of clearing his throat, then tries again, “can I just get some water?”

“Water, right! I can do that,” Poe exclaims, jumping to his feet fast enough to make Finn's head spin, soon disappearing out of sight and rummaging somewhere nearby.

Finn sighs and stares at the ceiling – it doesn't seem to be coming down on their collective heads just yet, which is probably about as good as things are getting.

“The Starkiller...?” he asks, too quiet and hoarse again, but Poe hears him anyway.

“Oh, yeah, turned to dust. More or less. Figuratively speaking. Excellent thinking with the direct approach, I gotta say. As a reward, one cup of water, premium Resistance base quality. Which amounts to 'barely drinkable' these days, I'm afraid.”

Something about Poe makes Finn smile – puts his mind at ease, even, he realizes. He's offering him the mug with such an apologetic grimace, looking on so concerned as Finn tries to make his body cooperate, and contort into a position that allows him to drink – there's a warmth about Poe, something genuine, that Finn isn't used to at all and thus can't really name, but he likes it a lot.

The water is nothing short of amazing, soothing him and yet making him more alert, but that is soon accompanied by the unfortunate side effect of his body remembering to remind him that he's still, in fact, in a lot of pain.

He arches his back away from the mattress pressing on the unknown wound, but that doesn't really improve anything, and he winces, struggling for any comfortable position at all.

“How long was I out?”

“Almost two weeks,” Poe supplies, and when Finn proceeds to probably look just as horrified as he feels, he hastens to add, “it's fine, it's fine, you didn't miss anything important. The First Order are taking a bit of time to catch their breath, which in turn gives _us_ time to reinforce our position. The General is pretty optimistic...”

“No, yeah, it's not... that,” Finn mumbles, averting his gaze when Poe arches an inquisitive eyebrow. “Nevermind.”

“What is it?”

“No, it's... I'm not used to... this,” Finn admits, wringing his blanket in his hands without really realizing it.

“To what? Living that resistance life? I promise it's not that bad. The food isn't great most of the time, and it's a lot of moving around, but there are upsides, too, you know-”

“No, no,” Finn finds himself smiling, at the total positivity in Poe's... whole person, probably, “it's... all of this. Being out of commission for two weeks... well, it's just not a thing in the First Order.”

“What, do they have some super fast healing chambers or something?” Poe demands, “because we could use one of those, you know.”

“I don't know, they might,” Finn shrugs, “but nah, if you're so badly injured that you can't function for that long, they usually just pull the plug.”

The shift in Poe's expression is so sudden and intense – from the horror in his eyes, to the displeased frown creasing his forehead and ruining his sunshine of a smile – that Finn almost apologizes for saying anything at all.

“They just kill their own?” Poe asks darkly.

“If you're a grunt, it's just more efficient to fill the spot with someone able-bodied,” Finn says, and Poe's glare is like a building storm, his jaw clenching, before he sighs, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well,” he declares, his smile returning, though a bit bitter now, “physiotherapy will be a big surprise.”

 

Doctors pour into the room sooner than Finn can ask any more questions, or perhaps reassure Poe, who still looks a bit distraught, a bit angry, that he really is okay and very grateful – instead, the pilot leaves him, though with a promise to return soon to check on him.

It is only after he's answered a dozen questions about what exactly his pain feels like, after he's gotten his – surprisingly positive, considering he' still mildly shocked he's even alive – prognosis, and he's lying alone again, painkillers slowly lulling him to sleep, that he realizes that it's the middle of the night, and Poe was sitting by his bedside anyway. That, and his jacket is smiling at Finn, draped over the chair he sat in.

It is the last thing he sees before sleep finally overpowers him again, and this time, the dreams are a fraction kinder.

 

-

 

It's almost too easy to forget that the threat is far from diminished – the skies are still blue in the morning, the weather still pleasantly warm, and now there's a slightly confused, very decidedly ex stormtrooper to show around the base. Poe takes to that task without even really thinking twice about it, firmly ignoring the comments about babysitting and taking puppies for walks, that he tends to receive.

The truth is, Finn is curious, and clever, and recovering faster than anyone dared hope, but he also didn't have anything aside from a number for a name a couple of weeks ago, and Poe still catches this forlorn, distant look in his eyes every now and then, like he's still figuring out this whole fitting in thing.

...But then Poe comes back from recon flights to find Finn cheerful and laughing, although still on crutches and only out of bed because he probably focused his pretty twin beams of unadulterated, irresistible _please_ on some nurse until they caved, and talking to many more people than Poe is sure he's had the time to introduce him to, or following General Organa around like... well, yeah, like a puppy – and add wearing Poe's jacket _all the time_ to the list, and it's swiftly becoming an image Poe starts looking forward to. Especially when Finn tends to greet him just as enthusiastically himself, really.

And so, for the longest time, Poe goes on thinking there's nothing wrong. Finn is there with them in some of the meetings, when he's allowed, and he tries so hard in his physiotherapy he always finishes sweating, but accomplished, and he eats for three, and always, _always_ has questions about something, questions Poe is more than happy to answer, ignoring Snap elbowing him in the ribs around the lunch table, or Jessika winking at him playfully whenever he catches himself grinning too broadly at Finn.

But yeah, he seems _fine._

And then one night, Poe is on his way to fetch a late snack to eat in his bed, taking a shortcut through the command center to what doubles as a sort of cafeteria, but is really only marginally less cluttered tables with a bunch more chairs around them than usual, and happens upon Finn sitting on a crate, unusually rigid, unusually quiet. He doesn't even respond at first when Poe greets him.

“Hey, uh, buddy? You okay?”

Finn tenses up, obviously only noticing Poe's presence just now, and he looks at him with eyes wide and jaw set tight, hands clasped almost anxiously in his lap.

“Yeah, I'm, uh... yeah. Totally fine.”

“Can't sleep?” Poe ventures a guess, and Finn's smile is sour at best.

“Something like that.”

“Hmm,” Poe inclines his head, briefly squeezing Finn's shoulder as he passes him by on his way to the tiny kitchen, “well, neither can I. Still on night shift time. You hungry? I'm gonna whip up something quick, not that this fridge offers me a lot of options.”

Finn's only response is a non-committal sound, and Poe decides that the best course of action is to just get on with it, talk _at_ him until it entices... _something._

“Man, I would kill for some chuchitos right now,” he sighs dramatically, “you wouldn't experience those unless you grew up on Yavin, but god, buddy, they are _delicious._ The next time the General sends me to oversee a supply run, I swear I'm raiding the nearest marketplace for all the ingredients, because you haven't _lived_ until you've tasted my chuchitos. The trick is to use the filling and wrapping around fifty fifty, and it's so easy to ruin completely, I'm telling you...”

He dances in between the stove and the fridge almost as quickly as he rants, getting what he hopes will turn out to be a semi-successful scrambled egg going, and still, no response from Finn.

“Not even any condiments on this damn base, and I told them _a million_ times, you don't feed people tasteless mush for months on end without starting _another_ revolution, honestly...”

“Poe.”

The mention of his name is so quiet, and yet it captures Poe's attention immediately.

“Yeah?” he responds, and when Finn remains silent, he finally decides to secure everything on the stove so that the entire base doesn't go up in flames because of a scrambled egg mishap, and turns around to look at Finn.

He's paler, shrunken, shoulders hunched defensively, all in all a sight so miserable that it makes Poe's heart clench. He also wants nothing more than to reach out, touch and reassure him, do _something,_ but somehow he senses Finn wouldn't appreciate that right now.

“What's wrong?” he asks instead, softly, and Finn's eyes are dark, too dark, the only gleam in them the reflection of the poor lighting in the mess hall behind them, the bluish neons lending an almost sickly sheen to his skin.

“Have you ever killed someone?” Finn asks tightly, as if he can't believe himself he's actually saying those words.

“Finn-”

“I mean, like, close quarters, you know, not... not from inside a fighter jet, I just-”

“Hey,” Poe says firmly, finding himself stepping closer.

“Sorry,” Finn retreats even further, “stupid question.”

“No, it's not. And yeah, I have.”

Finn's eyes seem to grow three sizes.

“You – you have.”

“Well, yeah,” Poe sighs, “I'm not proud of it, but sadly it's almost impossible to last this long with the resistance without shooting a bad guy or five... Are you _sure_ that this is what you want to talk about?”

“I just...” Finn hangs his head, his next words only the quietest murmur, “I was trained for it. _Bred_ for it. I know it's not exactly a tragedy that I don't _want to_ kill anyone, but...”

“But?” Poe urges him on.

“I watched him... Down there, I watched Kylo Ren kill – kill his own father like it was nothing. Poe. I... And before, before when you guys came to rescue us and before they got Rey, I fought... That guy was one of my own squad. We'd trained together since we were what, like, sixteen? And I couldn't kill him, and I _knew_ he wanted to. He really wanted to. But all I could think about was... What if I killed him by accident? I was holding a damn lighstaber I didn't know how to use and I, I...”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Poe interferes at last, closing what little distance remains between them, and reaching out for Finn's hands clasped tight in his lap, “stop. Stop it, and listen to me.”

It has the desired effect, Finn tripping over his words and taking a long nervous gulp of a breath, looking at Poe intently, his fists unfurling, big warm hands allowing Poe's fingers to curl around them.

“Not wanting to kill people,” Poe says clearly, firmly, not allowing his voice to waver, “is what sets you apart, Finn. From that squadmate of yours, from that bastard capable of killing his own... his own father. From anyone in the First Order. They tried to hammer it into you, but you resisted, and you continue resisting it, and _that is what sets you apart._ Please try to think of it that way. You're different. You're _good._ Okay?”

Finn nods, once, that incredible jaw set tight, and Poe conjures up his warmest smile.

“You're good,” he repeats.

And then Finn is leaning up, and perhaps Poe has _really_ misjudged how close they're standing, because it's incredibly easy to just let him... do that. His lips are dry and warm and cautious, but no less urgent, and a surprised, choked gasp escapes Poe, but before he can reciprocate in any way, it's over, and there is undue horror in Finn's eyes.

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't... I don't know what – shit. I'm sorry.”

Once Poe gathers his wits, he laughs, and that sound has more effect on Finn than anything else probably could – he looks taken aback, staring at Poe somewhat unsteadily, having yanked his hands out of the tentative grasp, now back to wringing them in his lap.

“What for?” Poe grins.

“I don't know if... I didn't want to assume anything,” Finn struggles to find the right words, “I was just... the moment. Caught in the – the moment.”

“The moment, right,” Poe's grin is almost hurting his cheeks, and something warm and fluttery and delighted is unfurling itself smack in the middle of his chest. “Well, as far as I'm concerned, _the moment_ is still going on.”

It's Finn yelping in gentle shock this time, even though Poe makes sure, a hundred times over, that he's allowed to proceed – he recaptures Finn's hands as he leans in again, and their fingers entwine, Poe's heartbeat somewhere in his throat, entirely too frantic and exhilarated, as Finn lets him, lets him kiss him one more time, reciprocating a bit clumsily, but no less earnestly.

This is... unplanned, and yet Poe already knows it's just about the best course of action, the best outcome he could have hoped for. He brushes his thumb over Finn's knuckles, lips slacking, asking to be allowed even closer, and damn, did Finn come out of his healing sleep with miraculous kissing abilities, or is it just Poe's own infatuation making the experience utterly unforgettable...? It's difficult to tell.

Finn makes a strangled sound, a tiny pleased murmur, and then his arm is around Poe's waist, and _thunk,_ Poe smacks his knee on the crate Finn is sitting on, but it's all good, it allows him even closer, closer still...

The door opening and letting the loud footsteps and laughter is like a gunshot in the blessed quiet, and they spring apart – or, more accurately, there's less springing involved, and more of Poe groaning his displeasure as they disentangle only highly reluctantly.

A group of ensigns, no doubt on their way from their shift, freezing for a moment when they spot Finn and Poe, selecting a table on the far side of the mess hall, but sadly not opting for, uhh, actually being quiet.

“Rhys, hey,” Poe grumbles as the youngest one of them, a capable droid technician, makes his way over to pick out a six pack of cans from one of the fridges.

“Poe – I mean, hi? What are you two up to?”

“Oh, we were just...”

“Scrambled eggs!” Finn supplies very helpfully, still looking far too deliciously disheveled in Poe's opinion.

“Right!” he agrees, perhaps a tad too cheerfully, “late night snack. You guys have a good shift? Yeah? Alright, nice, have fun, bye bye... Good _god._ ”

He leans on the nearest cupboard heavily after the kid scurries away, and Finn snorts a laugh, his grin the most blinding, beautiful thing.

“Yeah.”

“Do you, uh...”

“Yeah,” Finn repeats, a reply to a question not asked, “but first, scrambled eggs.”

“Uh... what?” Poe asks dumbly, raking his hand through his hair – is it just him, or is it suddenly a bit hotter in here? Definitely just the stove. Yeah.

Oh, right. The stove.

“Crap! Right, scrambled eggs. Dammit. Fortunately not _completely_ burned just yet.”

Finn's laughter should be outlawed, honestly just... It actually makes Poe grip his spatula tighter, his chest suddenly getting rather tight, which just might be the stupidest reaction he's ever had post-kissing.

He concentrates on the scrambled eggs instead, perpetrators of it all that they are, and feels Finn's gaze on him the entire time, as they remain silent save for the sizzling of standard-issue non-bacon, and attempt not to eavesdrop on the group sitting on the other side of the vast room, their voices carrying surprisingly loud.

Somehow, even though it's _really_ difficult to concentrate on _anything_ else beyond the memory of Finn's lips on his, Poe manages to finish the truly magnificent feast, shoveling it into two mismatched bowls, and when he turns around, it's to be confronted with Finn himself, at a very dangerously close proximity, almost making him drop their exquisite (second) dinner, honestly, damn that man, and his smile, and his... chest, kind of not agreeing with the loose lacing of his top, and his... warmth...

“So,” Poe clears his throat, remembering that he is, in fact, an adult man, pushing one bowl into Finn's hands.

“So,” Finn sighs, accepting it and looking at it with a fondness that no bowl of scrambled eggs deserves (really, Poe is kind of jealous of it).

Laughter erupts from the table of youngsters at that very moment, and Poe groans. Well done, he scolds himself, on not coming across a hundred years old.

“Do you want to take this to my quarters?” he suggests, and his brain catches up with his mouth a second too late, sadly. “Not to – not like _that._ Just to... eat. In peace. Oh my god.”

Finn actually _giggles_ , which should _definitely_ be outlawed, and takes a step closer.

“I'd like that, yeah. Lead the way.”

And so Poe does, a bit unsteadily, _forcing himself_ not to look at Finn pacing next to him every three seconds, to check that he really _is_ there. Not to behave like a teenager with a first crush.

The base is silent at this time of night, or rather, as quiet as a humming, thrumming complex housing hundreds can ever be, and Poe really, _really_ hopes BB-8 has picked this night to power down in the fighter just where Poe left him, and not come into his room and stand guard by the bathroom door like any other time the tiny droid is feeling a bit lonely. Speaking of, he really needs to take a shower...

“Uh. So,” he manages somewhat stiffly when they are finally standing in front of the door to his quarters, “here we are. Casa de Dameron.”

“Exciting,” Finn chuckles, and Poe hopes he doesn't see him taking a big, reassuring breath as the door slides open.

“Ooh, you have a window!” is Finn's first comment, and the first thing Poe thinks is, _oh good, didn't even notice the clothes on the floor._ His second one is, _how can someone be simultaneously so cute and so hot, getting excited about a damn window._

“Yeah, I requested it,” he comments, sitting on the round rattan stool by the entrance and digging into his, now slightly cooled, eggs.

“You can do that?” Finn sighs, face upturned, mouth slack in awe, spoon stuck halfway to it, and Poe flicks a switch by the door, watching his eyes widen proportionally as the shutters slide open fully and reveal the whole width of the slanted window.

“Well, I was among the first in the building when we found it, and I called dibs,” Poe admits, and Finn guffaws.

“Good thinking.”

They eat their snack, Finn captivated by the frankly pretty awesome view of the starry sky, and Poe captivated by the view of _him,_ and only when he finishes his portion, does Poe gather enough courage to walk over to him and stand by his side.

“Not many stars to see where you were?” he asks gently, and to his surprise (and delight) Finn's laugh is a choked snort, genuinely amused.

“Do you even _remember_ what the base I worked on was called?”

“Oh... Oh god. Oh my god, I'm...”

They laugh about it together, and, well, Poe's room might have a window, but there really isn't much.... well, yeah, room. Fortunately, it doesn't seem like they'll need it.

“The eggs were... wow,” Finn comments quietly, and Poe smirks, taking the empty bowl out of his hands and setting it aside.

“Your standards are very low, that's refreshing.”

“Regarding food? I guess. It still feels weird not getting a protein injection for dinner.”

“A protein inj- god.”

“Yeah,” Finn smiles bitterly, “delicious. Really leaves that artificial aftertaste in your mouth.”

And Poe has an entire _arsenal_ of lines ready to go at that suggestion, but somehow, it doesn't seem right to use any of them on Finn. Not right at all.

And so he only reaches for his hand once again, a wordless question, and Finn responds silently as well, but clearly enough, turning to face him, eyes darting from Poe's eyes to his mouth, and then Finn bites his bottom lip somewhat nervously, and then Poe can't resist him anymore.

He realizes Finn kisses carefully, like he's still too uncertain to do anything but follow Poe's lead, and so he attempts to show him, by proximity alone, that he's allowed to lead this in a direction _he_ likes.

The first tug at his bottom lip, he attributes to Finn's beginner's clumsiness, but the second one makes his knees buck, and a tight core of pleasure settle in his stomach.

“You, uh...” he manages, entirely distracted by Finn's palm flat on the small of his back.  
“I don't... Is it good?” Finn breathes out.  
“Good,” Poe agrees quickly, “yes, good. Very good, Very...”

But Finn doesn't let him finish that particular jumble of sentences, kissing him again, more enthusiastic, more focused, more... everything.

They back away from the window, somehow managing not to trip over each other's feet, and Finn is tugging at Poe's vest, something needy sneaking into his breathing, and Poe would like nothing more than to give in fully, god, does he want to, with every inch and fiber of his being, but...

“Hold on, hold on,” he manages to stutter, immediately mentally kicking himself for this stupidly _adult_ decision, “I want to make sure that... I don't...”

“Right, yeah, uh...” Finn stumbles over his words, allowing some air in between them, “sorry. I got a little bit carried away.”

“That's okay,” Poe grins, and when he sees Finn hang his head, he interferes immediately, hand on his cheek, _oh my god is that stubble, that is unlawful and amazing,_ and succeeding at making Finn look at him, albeit sheepishly.

“I want this,” Poe declares softly, but firmly enough so that there can be no doubt, “but I don't want to rush into anything we might not be... ready for. Yeah?”

He swallows hard and dry – that really is a _stunning_ smile Finn can do.

“That's... yeah. That sounds good. Thank you.”

His hands are on Poe's chest now, large and warm and still so careful, and Poe makes a decision, taking one of them and bringing it to his lips, kissing Finn's knuckles, the back of his palm, the inside of his wrist.

“Because I like you,” he confesses among all that, “a lot. And I want this to go... well. ...And to be completely honest with you, I really need a shower right now.”

Finn's whole face seemingly lights up with that grin, and Poe doesn't think he will ever be able to get over _those._

“Okay,” he says, nodding to himself as if he's memorizing all of Poe's words, “thank you. For the... eggs.”

“You're welcome for the eggs,” Poe chuckles.

One last kiss, soft, lazy, _slow,_ lingering long after it's finished, and Finn's fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt, like he's searching for an anchor.

“I should go,” Finn decides, quietly, hoarsely, and Poe sees it far too clear in his eyes again, the unsteadiness.

“You don't have to,” he suggests, and Finn's eyes widen, lips moving as if he's repeating the words to himself.

“Not like... that,” Poe suggests, “we don't have to... do anything. But... you need sleep, and I need sleep, and you don't even have your own quarters.”

“I still sleep in the infirmary, but only because there's a free bed right now,” Finn admits timidly, and honestly, the amount of lovesick swelling Poe's heart suffers might very well cause some sort of a condition in the future.

“That's decided, then. You can sleep here. The bed's wide enough.”

Finn looks at it askance, and Poe has to laugh.

“Don't worry, I don't snore. Much. Or kick.”

“...I might,” Finn admits.

“Guess we'll just have to find out,” Poe smirks, and, with one last brush of his thumb across Finn's cheekbone, he puts some distance in between them, probably the hardest task he's had to do in the recent days.

“Yeah,” a deep sigh, and a lot of relief in it.

Without another word, Poe turns away, shedding his vest and pulling his shirt off over his head, without even _realizing,_ and it is only upon asking if Finn will be needing to use the shower too, and receiving no response, that he blushes a bit, realizing what a show he's just made of himself.

“Sorry,” he half laughs, half groans, “I'm gonna go hide in there. _Do you_ want to use the shower after me? Because water rations and everything, I gotta switch the boiler off for the night...”

“No, no, I'm, uh... good. Yeah. Definitely. Good.”

Poe pretends not to notice _that_ look that Finn levels him with, literally sizing him up from head to toe, and it is only after the door to the bathroom slides close behind him, that he allows himself to come undone a little bit, leaning on the wall and grinning like an idiot, trying to hide it with his hand even though there is absolutely no one there to see, and call him an infatuated fool.

The lukewarm water helps somewhat, and he's wise enough to step out before it begins helping _too much._ It doesn't feel right, with Finn in the next room, not really.

Finn, who, as Poe discovers immediately after stepping out (cautiously at first because all his clean clothes are... somewhere in the bedroom and not immediately at hand), fits absolutely perfectly into his bed, already curled up on one side, taking up so little space Poe wonders if he had been conditioned to do that, too... He's clutching onto one of Poe's ancient pillows, his breathing steady and calm, face that much younger, and, predictably, much more vulnerable, and only a soft chill creeping up his still-damp spine reminds Poe that he might have been staring a bit too long.

After a moment's consideration, he slips into a clean pair of sleeping pants and a fresh t-shirt, and it definitely a novel sensation, trying to slot two bodies together in _this_ particular bed, but it's as if Finn reacts to the warmth of him, curling closer the second Poe settles down, murmuring something nonsensical and then sighing happily.

“You're really handsome, d'you know that,” Poe sighs, creating his own nook out of a blanket and pillows bunched up under his head.

“And you make really good eggs,” Finn sighs, and Poe squeaks, a betrayed embarrassed sound.

“You're not asleep!”

“Mm of course I am,” Finn hums, smug and pleased, not even needing to open his eyes to see the damage he's caused. “See, totally asleep. Night night.”

Poe watches him almost breathlessly for a moment, too ensnared, too preoccupied trying to memorize every single angle and line of his face, and then he summons all his courage and leans closer, their noses brushing together before he plants a kiss on Finn's.

“Good night,” he murmurs, and it seems that this time, Finn really is asleep.

...Which doesn't stop him from sliding his hand underneath Poe's t-shirt to rest on his ribs, making him yelp, their quiet laughter eventually replaced by their breathing evening out.

Not that anyone's keeping score, but Poe definitely _does_ snore, but it's okay, because it turns out that Finn has a tendency to hog blankets.

They make do, though.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up and seeing a clear blue sky above his head is, honestly, a bit of a novelty. Finn has to take a moment to adjust and realize where he is, and when he manages that, he can't really fight the silly grin.

Poe's room is tiny, but incredibly cozy, a true testament to his personality – messy but charming, cluttered but still pleasant to look at.

It also suffers from a distinct lack of Poe himself, but Finn supposes it's to be expected.

Besides, he discovers the little blinking message on the night stand soon enough, and his heart flutters a little bit when he presses play.

" _Finn, hey,_ " recording-Poe sounds hurried, and like he's already walking somewhere loud, " _had to get up early, didn't want to wake you. Uh, use the shower if you want to. I'll be out all day, but I'll catch you at dinner? I hope. At some point. Anyway, um... Physical therapy today, yeah? Good luck with that. Don't overwork yourself. Oh, and! I meant to ask you – I had to leave BB-8 behind, some routine check-up, you can imagine their divine wrath. Could you stop by the maintenance bay and keep them company? Maybe? For a while? They really like you. Okay, thanks, uhh... Yeah. Gotta go now. Last night was... hah. We'll talk about that when I get back, yeah? ...Bye."_

By the end of _that,_ Finn is pacing the tiny span of the room to calm himself down, bursting to laughter at random moments – recording-Poe is just as cute as the real life version, and halfway through, Finn starts remembering just _how cute_ the real life version was last night.

Man, what was he thinking? Well, something stupid and reckless, but it seems to have worked out for the best. He really has to send Rey a memo about this – he's been meaning to, ever since he woke up, but General Organa informed them the other day that her ship landed safely in its destination, and not to worry, and so Finn hasn't.

Yeah, maybe he might want to tell her he's alive, at the very least. The 'making out a little bit with a resistance pilot' part can wait.

He does use Poe's shower – it's a nice change from the communal ones in the infirmary – and tries his damnedest not to ogle all his possessions, all of it just breathing _him,_ a razor and toothbrush in a battered tin can on the edge of the sink, an old, crumpled and bleached ' _Visit The Ancient Ma_ _ssassi_ _Ruins, Explore Yavin_ _IV_ _Today!_ ' leaflet taped to the even older mirror... Soft faded t-shirts among fighter pilot gear scattered all over the floor, everywhere, it seems. Bits and pieces of electronics, datapads, lonely screws, and the occasional sock among all of that, haphazard and lazy, and yet, carrying some sort of message about Poe, a message Finn really likes.

...Or maybe he's still dizzy from the night before, that's also a plausible explanation, he's gotta be honest with himself.

Drying himself off and promising himself to actually ask someone in requisitions for some new clothes, he finally checks the time, and his heart sinks a little bit, a somewhat atavistic reflex – it's been difficult, getting used to the joyful lack of... order here at the base, when he spent his entire life before that following strict schedules and regulations, and sometimes he still tends to forget that he's a little bit of a freeloader still, and doesn't really have to... _be_ anywhere on time.

His physical therapist, for example, a cheerful little guy by the name of Dr Ewald, ('with a little bit of an ewok in him', as Snap joked one day over dinner, only to receive a glare and an expertly thrown piece of bread in his hair from said Dr Ewok), welcomes him like he's been looking forward to him all day, and lets Finn sit around and observe his work until he finds a bit of time to actually tend to him.

But Finn's biggest concern – and no, it isn't spending the day expecting to find Poe smiling at him behind every corner, though that _is_ just a teensy bit inconvenient – is only ever voiced when General Organa herself walks in just as he's nearing the end of his exercises, sweat soaking his t-shirt back and front, and probably dripping down his nose as well or something, judging by how fond and concerned she sounds when she greets him.

"They're not driving you too hard, are they?" she demands, leveling Dr Ewo-Ewald with a glare powerful enough to terraform continents, probably, to which he only responds with waving his hand dismissively and muttering something in his native language of... whatever that is.

"Nothing that I can't handle," he smiles dutifully, drying himself off and getting a long gulp of the protein shake that the doctor always prepares for him.

"If you're sure," she seems unconvinced.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Finn asks hopefully, and she aims her glare at him, though kinder.

"I was just about to ask you the same question."

"I, uh... Oh, no. I'm fine, really, more than okay. Everyone's been very kind to me, it's..."

"New."

"Yeah."

She really has eyes piercing enough to laser through metal, and Finn averts his gaze, fiddling with his bottle.

"There is... something, I-"

"Yes?"

"If it's at all possible," Finn sighs, scratching his head nervously, "I'd like to have something to do. Anything, really. Pull my own weight around this place, you know? Since – since I was allowed to stay here. I'm used to hard labor. And, look, I understand if you can't fully trust me yet-"

"Finn," she says sternly, and he realizes he's still not used to hearing his... name – it sounds so much different from everyone.

"After everything you went through just to help our cause," she continues resolutely, "I have nothing but the utmost faith in you. Do you understand? You're safe here."

Finn stares at her a bit dumbly at first, his mouth probably hanging open a bit, let's be honest, and then he swallows hard, regaining his composure, nodding firmly.

"Thank you. I won't let you down."

"I know you won't. As for pulling your own weight, well... I do have a couple of things in mind."

"You do?" Finn brightens up, and she smiles, short but sweet.

"I do. Why don't we take a walk, if you're done here."

She leads the way through the base like she was born there, nodding at everyone she meets, the crowd parting entirely naturally for her, even though strictly practically speaking, it's incredibly easy to overlook her tiny stature. Finn is already pretty sure he'd be willing to do just about anything to gain her approval, _and_ help her, and it's not the authority he's used to, not at all. It isn't pictures and videos drilled into his brain from childhood, dark figures standing the span of a saluting battalion away, fear, caution, _watch your mouth, don't look him directly in the eye, keep marching._

This is natural-born respect that a person just exudes, and Finn gets used to it pretty quickly, deciding resolutely and for good that if he's to follow anyone ever again, it will be people like Leia Organa, who don't need to physically stand taller than everyone in any given room to still tower over them.

"Poe told me how well you handled yourself when you two first escaped the Starkiller. That you manned the fighter's cannons, picked it up immediately," she tells him, and the mention of Poe's name is like a green light among red on a monitor – Finn zeroes in on it immediately.

"I, uh... Lots of improvisation involved that day, really," Finn admits.

"What do you think this movement relies on, every single day?" she cocks one eyebrow, and when he can't help the snort of laughter, she seems pleased.

"You're smart, and you have much more talent than they ever let you groom, I believe," she declares, "Poe seems to think so, too. It was his idea to let you try your hand at the weapons systems."

"Oh, I, uh... I'm no armature technician, though," Finn frowns, and she waves her hand dismissively.

"Very few of us are working here in a capacity we were originally trained for, Finn. We salvage battle AIs where we can find them these days, and you can imagine how much improvisation getting _that_ to work on our machines involves. We lost three of our best technicians in the Starkiller battle, and do you know what?"

"What?" Finn peeps.

"Two of them came here as agricultural specialists. Farmers, Finn."

They are outside now, the bustle of the courtyard, trucks with supplies crossing it alongside people rushing here and there, a strangely pleasant cacophony. Leia – General Organa stops right in front of him, forbidding him to look anywhere but her, straight in the eye, simply by glaring hard enough, and she states: "The First Order would have you believe that it's alright, that it's _convenient_ , to be programmed for one task, and one task only in your life. Well, I don't believe in that, and _you_ are not in the First Order anymore. You have an option now to figure out what you _really_ want to do with your life, and who knows – might even get lucky and learn something to that effect about yourself when trying to fix up an ancient military AI. What do you think?"

High up above them, a patrol drone buzzes by, and Finn cranes his neck to look, almost hoping for a second that he might see the distinctly marked wings of Poe's jet, and when he looks back at the General, she's smirking at him somewhat mysteriously, but also suggestively enough to make Finn blush.

"I'd, uh... Yeah. I'll give it a shot. I think?"

-

 

"Intercept trajectory, I repeat, we are on intercept trajectory. ETA a lazy, comfortable thirty minutes."

"Nap formation, assuming nap formation," Snaps yawns into the receiver, and Poe groans.

" _Needless to say,_ it would be good if we all still stayed on our guard," he scolds softly.

"Last First Order sighting in the sector was two days ago," Jessika supports that argument, her X-Wing ascending in a languid arch above Poe's and Snap's, its engines idling, exhaust fumes painting a glittering streak across their visors for a second.

"There you go," Poe nods, tickling the sideways thrusters just a little bit, the starfighter tilting left and right, a little appreciative dance.

"Someone's in a good mood," Snap points out, and Jessika sniggers.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Poe chuckles, "it's a lovely morning, no one's tried to nuke the base from orbit yet-"

"The day's still young," Snap comments.

"True enough."

"But yeah," Jessika notes, "what was with the take-off earlier?"

"What about it?" Poe resists feebly, "nothing unusual."

"Hah!" the receiver crackles with Snap's scoff.

"A barrel roll _and_ a loop around the transmitter tower?" Jessika sees fit to remind him, "you could _see_ the General scowling in the backyard."

"I'm pretty sure she was laughing, actually," Snap muses, "so, buddy, anything to confess?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Poe grumbles.

"Uh-huh," Jessika deadpans, continuing casually, "so how would you say young Finn is settling in?"

"I wouldn't know," Poe makes a face that, fortunately, no transmitter can relay, "you should, though, you're the one who introduced him to Dandoran brandy the other night."

"Ah, just preserving the legacy of my people," Jessika states solemnly.

"The same cannot be said for our livers," Snap sighs.

"Honestly, though, _I_ hear there was some... egg scrambling last night," Jessika decides to be relentless.

"Which is unusual _how_?" Poe laughs, trying his damnedest to remember who was sitting in that loud and _inconvenient_ group in the mess hall yesterday. Then again, _everyone_ tells Jessika everything – she just seems to have that sort of power about her.

"Ah, romantic midnight snacks, my youth," Snap sighs dreamily, correcting himself rather quickly though, "who am I kidding, it was always just me, eating alone."

"At least you're honest," Jessika comforts him, "unlike our dear Dameron."

"Let it go," Poe sighs, still more amused than annoyed.

"Ah, so something  _ did  _ happen."

"Yeah, two fighter pilots nagged their commander to death... Watch your left."

"Whoa," Jessika exhales, a dry crackle of a sound over the radio.

"You know, debris doesn't really do this justice," Snap says quietly, as the three of them carefully guide their jets out of the remnants of the asteroid field they just passed through, and away from... that.

When the Starkiller imploded, ruins of it and the surrounding stations were, much like with any other planet, plummeted in any and all directions, but thanks to its core being superpowered as it was, the landing radius has been... a bit bigger than usual. They kept seeing meteors breaching the atmosphere back at base for days on end, ranging from nothing more than pebbles shining brilliantly and burning out in a second, to huge rocks breaking the occasional tree, or raking a scar into a field or two.

But this is... different, and huge, and somewhat majestic – what once was a structure of some kind, probably one of the First Order monitoring stations plastered to asteroids all around the planet's trajectory, several floors of metal beams and the remnants of exterior paneling still firmly fused with the chunk of rock underneath, swirling ever so slowly as it floats. They can see windows, and violently torn pipes gaping open into the black of space, and the sparks caused by the debris grinding together every now and then make it seem like the lights are still on, like someone's still home. A massive First Order symbol is still clearly visible on the wall that has remained somewhat unscathed, flamboyant in how stern it's trying to be.

"Send the location and the approximate trajectory back home for the salvage team to stop by," Poe requests, quietly making sure that their course takes them around the thing on a wide enough arch.

"Punching it in," Jessika affirms, and even she sounds too quiet, an awed sort of reverence – none of them have any sympathy left for anyone who got stuck down on the Starkiller when it got torn to pieces, but the scope of it... It's strange, and grounding, to see the hollow husk of something they were only ever supposed to have nightmares about, something they thought absolutely impermeable, and managed to destroy with only a handful of fighter jets, some cleverly placed explosives, and precisely one tactically utilized Wookie.

The loss, of course, was barely worth it, and the memory of it still leaves a foul taste in Poe's mouth.

"Just got pinged," Snap announces somberly into the suffocating silence, and Poe sees it on his monitor as well, the small blinking green dot, the only indication that they are headed in the right direction.

"Do you think it's her?" Jessika asks the question that sent them on this mission in the first place.

"Gotta check it out either way," Poe notes, "come on."

They tighten up their formation, Poe in the front while they stick to his flanks, and they guide their jets through the increasingly thicker asteroid belt, though a large part of it is in fact just debris, old and new. Poe doesn't look too hard anymore.

"So which one of these rocks do you reckon she crashed into?" Snap postulates.

"Hopefully none. We need that info."

"You guys catch that too, or am I seeing explosions again?"

"See what – oh," Poe swallows, immediately switching his sensors to mid-range.

It's difficult to pinpoint the exact location for a second or two, their sensors lit up with new readings, movement, heat, _fire,_ but the sky ahead is a clear indicator of what's going on, when one really wants to see it – lit up by the battle like a lamp flickering in fog, a deceptively warm golden glow spreading, then retreating again. It's obvious now just _how_ new some of the debris around them must be.

"So who wants to bet our golden girl is right in the middle of _that_?" Snap sighs.

"Such is our luck," Poe groans, "come on, double time it."

 

They approach as one, only separating right before they are to enter the actual battle, to encompass it from as many sides as possible – it's a small one causing a lot of humbug as it turns out, but Poe's heart still jumps into his throat when he sees the telltale shapes of First Order TIE fighters assaulting the small transmitter station, evidently derelict, evidently planning on lasting about two more minutes under the crossfire.

"Alright guys," he sifts through his teeth, already picking his targets, two for each member of the once mighty Resistance fleet, "single them out, light 'em up. Keep them away from that station."

They have the element of surprise, and they use it to their full advantage – Snap manages to cripple one fighter within the span of about five seconds while Poe and Jessika cover him, and then it's official, the enemy starfighters switching from offense to defense, and it's close quarters, and Poe's fleet has the advantage of a slighter build and more speed, but the asteroid rubble flying in every which direction has much less impact on the sturdier enemy ships, of course.

Nevertheless, it's over almost before it started, four going down and the other two retreating while they still have the juice to do so, and Poe's worries are voiced perfectly when Snap groans, idly shooting the rocks in their way into smaller, unobtrusive rocks, his favorite pastime: "So, do you think they're really _that_ disorganized, or that they managed to get a read on us without noticing and are currently sending our location back home?"

"Either way, we need to make our pick up and get the hell out of here," Jessika points out, speeding ahead, "that thing is literally about to fall apart."

They see it now that they have the time to _really_ look, the exoskeleton of the ancient transmitter held together only by its rapidly failing shields, some sort of antediluvian proto core making it run long past its service time, and also incidentally about to devour it whole, as humongous pulsating orbs of refined plutonium tend to do when left unattended.

Their sensors come alive with another incoming signal seconds before they finally see it, the tiny transport shuttle like a speckle hiding in the shadow of the giant.

"Getting a request for a comm chat," Snap chuckles, "call me a prude, but I don't feel comfortable sharing personal info after we just got attacked by the First Order's finest."

Poe sighs, allowing the signal through, pronouncing clearly: "This is Republic Corps, Blue Squadron Five, routine perimeter check-up. State your purpose in this sector."

They hear faint laughter, almost just a crackle of white noise, on the other end, and the tiny shuttle wobbles out of its parking spot and closer to them.

"Smuggling some clementines to satisfy an impatient Rylothian," comes the highly amused response, followed by a clear, "haven't had to use that one in a while. This is Maz Kanata. What the hell took you so long?"

 

-

 

It's a funny thing, actually getting to  _ talk  _ to people. Finn remembers, far too vividly perhaps, the time spent – wasted – staring at a wall, or exercising, or watching instruction videos, or reading manual after manual in what was fancily called their  _ downtime,  _ as if they were machines merely idling in between periods of heavy duty. The most fun they ever got was racing each other disassembling their rifles, or something equally fulfilling, but perhaps the most terrifying thing to Finn now is how  _ normal  _ he used to find it all. It didn't even occur to him that things could be different.

_ Real  _ people, he's slowly learning now, people who are not only  _ not  _ pushed to the brink of their humanity, but forced to cross it every single day of their lives, tend to behave differently. They tend to be friendly, and forthcoming, and helpful, and  _ fun,  _ and it is, frankly, still a bit disconcerting. The last time he instinctively flinched at someone slapping his back out of sheer camaraderie wasn't that long ago after all.

"Yo, Finn! What are you doing down here? Careful where you step, wires all over the place right now."

That's Rikka, the head mechanic slash maintenance officer slash reigning queen of That One Drinking Game No One Has Explained To Finn Yet, a deceptively innocent-looking lady, but most people only tend to underestimate her short plump stature _or_ make an inappropriate joke about her lekku once, before learning their lesson very thoroughly. She is the first Twi'lek Finn has had the privilege of talking to in his entire life, and he's definitely been enjoying the experience a lot.

"Uh, Poe asked me to come down here to check on BB-8, actually," Finn explains, stepping over thick wires slithering across the floor with the utmost care, "some routine maintenance.., thing?"

"Nothing is  _ ever  _ routine with that damn droid,"  Rikka groans,  angrily punching something into the nearest console and shooing off the little maintenance droid, no doubt doing its best to help . "Do you know Poe lets him write his own protocols these days? Damn near impossible to get to his core programming and manage the repairs. What a pain in the ass. All I ever hear is he's-"

"One of a kind, yeah," Finn chuckles.

"Oh, good, you're in on it too," she sighs, "special as he is, that crybaby needs to understand that there are _some_ repairs he just has to let someone else perform!"

She raises her voice towards the end of that tirade, and receives a response in the form of a dull clang, metal hitting metal, and something tiny and electrical straining and hissing, and then the rebellious droid in question is rolling up to them, looking as cross as a tiny expression-less mechanical ball can.

"Hey, buddy, how's it going down here?"

BB-8 comments with an accusatory beep, bumping into Finn's legs gently,  _ how come you didn't come to get me the hell out of here earlier?  _ One doesn't even need to understand much of the unique droid language to get that.

"Hey, you're not going anywhere!" Rikka scolds them, "you still have my best, and I stress _last,_ radiation reader strapped to your shiny head, so don't move one more inch!"

Finn simply watches in amusement, along a number of other mechanics craning their necks to see from their work benches, as Rikka attempts in vain to chase the indignantly shrieking and surprisingly nimble droid around the cluttered workplace. Finn himself has learned some time ago that if BB-8 responds to anything, it certainly isn't being  _ forced  _ to do things, and they really like to have some fun when the opportunity arises. People laughing at their antics seems to fuel them as well as any charging cord.

"Don't make me shut you off again!" Rikka roars, but she's also the first one to give up, BB-8 using their extendable wires to latch onto the ceiling and virtually propel out of her reach, swinging up there and bwooping with much satisfaction.

" _Chod_ ," Rikka huffs what can only be a very potent swear in her language, "alright people, show's over! Back to work."

BB-8 descends slowly, cautiously, and immediately hides behind Finn's legs, feigning innocence, when Rikka makes a mock grab at them.

"Worse than a damn cat," the mechanic huffs, getting herself a drink after that workout.

"Yeah? That sounds fun. I've never met a cat," Finn chuckles, gently patting the droid on the head, even though he supposes it has to have about the same effect as trying to cuddle a coffee maker.

He only catches a glimpse of something like concern in Rikka's piercing eyes, but it's gone before he can distinguish it properly.

"You must have missed out on a whole lot, huh," she arches one eyebrow at him, and Finn doesn't know better than to shrug.

"I didn't really know what I was missing out on, so..."

"Right. Well, it has already been established that you're pretty good at partying, and you'll figure out the rest as you go, eh? No rush, it's all pretty messy."

Finn thinks of Poe's arms around him, fingers finding their way underneath his shirt and searing into bare skin, the whisper of the name Poe gave him carried in between their lips.

"Yeah," he smiles, "kinda nice, though."

Rikka fixes him with an extremely curious look, but he holds his own, simply continuing to smile, and she shakes her head, smirking to herself.

"So I hear the General wants you to look into some weapons systems, yeah?"

"...Wow. Word travels fast," Finn quirks one eyebrow.

"You have  _ no  _ idea," she remarks, and there is definitely something suggestive in  _ that.  _ "I also hear  _ that  _ was Poe's idea," she adds, to which Finn laughs a bit nervously.

"Yeah, so do I. He never ran it by me. Just told the General, and here I am."

"You'll do just fine," she grants him a genuine, warm smile, backed by a reassuring bleep from BB-8 as well. "Actually, do you want to start right now?"

"Right  _ now,  _ right now?" Finn stammers a bit.

"Yeah, why not," she grins, "I just got some new salvage the other day, and haven't really looked at it yet. Kinda lazy, to be completely honest with you."

"I, uh... sure?" Finn shrugs.

"Come on, it'll be a piece of cake," she maintains, "BB-8 will help you too, won't he?"

The droid offers a slightly affronted beep, something along the lines of a very blasé  _ oh? _

"Yeah, I'm officially relieving you from all check-ups," Rikka announces ceremonially, slapping the droid on the side, to which she receives a slightly offended hum, but BB-8 does seem to be happy to be free, bumping into Finn to follow them as Rikka leads the way to the back of the bay, darker, full of junk that threatens costing one a limb if tripped over, mysterious crates, wiring everywhere.

"There she is, my beauty," Rikka announces, dragging a heavy cloth off what looks just like another pile of debris, but turns out to be... well, barely a level  _ above  _ debris, some incredibly derelict tiny  starfighter of a make Finn recognizes far too well – one of the First Order's fastest, but least durable, a standard model  TIE Interceptor .

"They towed her in last week," Rikka explains excitedly, like it's the best find of her career, "she'll probably never fly again, but the mainframe is almost untouched. We thought we might be able to reap it and upgrade one of our jets with it. Wanna take a look?"

"Uh, sure? Don't know if I can manage much more than the droids, though," Finn points out, to which BB-8 responds with a sequence of beeps that might as well be giggling, and almost topples Finn over poking his shins, urging him to come on.

The droid manages to open the cockpit for them, a wave of almost unnaturally hot air pouring out, and Finn resists the instinct to shield his eyes.

"Are you  _ sure  _ this thing is okay, and not about to explode with me inside?"

"AC is bust," Rikka waves her hand dismissively, "and besides, we've got it constantly plugged into a computer, running diagnostics. Overheats the crappy UID."

"Okay, then what do you expect  _ me  _ to do that a computer and a droid can't?" Finn wonders, beginning to feel just a little bit exasperated, especially watching BB-8 smoothly find their way into the system through one connection alone, the UID lighting up, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

"Don't underestimate yourself!" Rikka calls after him, already halfway submerged in some crate searching for something, "get in there and tell me what you can see."

He doesn't exactly feel encouraged by that per se, but it's not like he has anything else to do, and he's strangely determined to find  _ something  _ that can make him useful. He clambers inside the cramped cockpit, barely enough for one person, let alone a person and a persistent astronav droid, and tries to make some sense of the controls.

"What do you think, buddy?" he converses with BB-8, idly flipping through the commands, to see how much of it is actually operational. The droid offers a frustrated beep.

"I know the feeling. This is a mess. Let's see here..."

Most of the UID is jumbled beyond recognition, up to the point that it keeps requesting landing coordinates _and_ asking for its tank to be refilled at the same time, but the First Order sign is still firmly in place, alongside a number of regulations that Finn remembers seeing in trainings. Even though the display keeps flickering in and out, most if it is unpleasantly familiar, and Finn feels cold sweat on his spine despite the sweltering heat.

BB-8 comments with a supportive sound, then nudges Finn to make him pay attention, bringing up a sign-in dialogue box on the central display.

"Yeah, that's nice, man, but I don't have any access codes," Finn sighs, to which BB-8 _scoffs,_ an affronted whirr, and connects a second one of their all-purpose wires to the mainframe, the display lighting up in root code that looks suspiciously like...

"Rikka!" Finn hollers, "disconnect that computer of yours right now!"

"What?" a response comes from way too far off, "I can't, it's locked in on a procedure-"

"Pull the plug! BB-8's trying to hack the mainframe, and if that thing gets into our computers-"

The tiny droid is shrieking something Finn can't understand, perhaps trying to reassure him that everything is under control, god dammit, and he hears clambering as Rikka probably trips over a dozen different bits and bops of junk trying to make her way to the computer, and then BB-8 exclaims victoriously, the display, the entire UID, lighting up green for just a split second,  _ Access Confirmed,  _ before the entire ship wails with a tortured hum, everything switching off, and the cockpit shutting close with a terrifying hiss.

"What the hell did you _do?!_ " Finn howls, hitting his elbows on things, hitting his _head_ on the roof of the cockpit, as he tries to turn around and figure out something to do. "Get us out of here!"

BB-8's chirping has a frantic edge to it now,  _ I'm trying, I'm trying,  _ but the UID doesn't respond to their mechanics in the least now, ominously dark, ominously silent. And the heat really is unbearable...

"Come  _ on,  _ BB-8, there has to be a way,  _ do something,  _ this is  _ so  _ not how I want to die!" Finn complains, fingers hovering over the bottom of the mainframe, the controls above, trying to press anything and everything to elicit a response, there must be a failsafe of some sort, there  _ must be... _

Rikka's shouts from outside are nothing more than a distant hum, and god dammit, breathing really  _ is  _ kind of difficult with about one square meter of air for one set of lungs.

"BB-8,  _ come on! _ "

The droid fusses and complains, but then, at last, a conclusion seems to have been reached. The UID lights up again, partially, a service emergency red that Finn recognizes as well.

"Great, now let's open that door."

The droid's optical unit glints in the relative dark of the cockpit.

_ Bwoop,  _ is the only comment, somber and somehow quiet, and Finn knows nothing of the language still, but he can very well recognize an  _ I'm sorry for this. _

"Hey, what, what,  _ what  _ are you about to-"

All air is literally punched out of his lungs as two thick straps buckle across his chest, effectively chaining him to the pilot's seat.

"No, no, no,  _ no,  _ don't you dare!"

But it's too late, and the last word of that sentence is drawn out into a shout as BB-8 jettisons the pilot's seat from the cockpit, with Finn still strapped to it, of course. Later, Rikka will describe the beautiful arc the seat made, and how lucky it was that the ceilings were that high, and how hilarious Finn looked shouting abuse at the droid, who, for all intents and purposes, did the greatest possible job given the circumstances, but right now, all that is on Finn's mind is  _ imminent landing, imminent landing, and concrete to land on. _

The built-in parachute remembers to open literally a second before he does hit the aforementioned concrete, enveloping him and all his swears in a wavy blanket of military grey, that heaves and floats like the surface of a sea as Finn struggles to get himself free and crawl out.

"I hate you!" he huffs, staying on his knees for a precious second to regain his bearing, "you are officially banned from trying to help!"

 

All in all, there might be worse times for Poe and the rest to walk in than when Finn is rubbing his aching behind, but probably not a lot.

 

"What the heck did we just miss?" Snap guffaws, and Finn turns crimson as Poe hurries to him – fortunately, no one seems to notice his overt eagerness, as Jessika is busy greeting her girlfriend, Rikka explaining Finn's suffering in excruciating detail, and Snap seems more interested in inspecting the wreck of the starfighter, the forcefully opened cockpit now steaming slightly. BB-8 is playing innocent next to it, rolling in to greet their master, who, for the most part, only seems interested in looking Finn over from head to toe like he's genuinely worried about him, but also similarly overjoyed to see him.

"Hi," Finn exhales, and Poe grins, and it's very difficult to stay even a little bit annoyed at the sight of that.

"Hi. Looks like you've been having fun?"

"Oh, yeah, having the time of my life," Finn grumbles, but it isn't very heartfelt – Poe's hair is all messy from the flight helmet he's still carrying tucked under his arm, and he's smiling at Finn like he hopes for exactly the thing Finn hopes for. But they probably shouldn't? No, not right now, it's not even established if...

"So, uh, anyway," Finn blurts out, cutting the embarrassing, if giddy, moment a bit shorter, "how was your... flight... mission, thing?"

"Oh, great, yeah," Snap joins in, "narrowly avoided making a radioactive transmitter station explode on us, probably alerted the First Order to our whereabouts, smuggled some tangerines..."

"You what?" Finn laughs.

"You'll see," Poe chuckles, "come on. Someone's very excited to meet you again."

 

Before Finn knows it, he's smushed in between Poe and Rikka at a huge table in the lounge, now doubling as command center, as everyone is hungry, and they don't exactly have the time for putting together grand meetings and dining later. It's loud, and cheerful, and near overwhelming, but Finn enjoys it so much nevertheless – too much noise usually spelled trouble back where he grew up, and hearing laughter over dinner tended to mean someone was about to be decommissioned soon for _deviating from the norm._

He got over his initial agitation at meeting Maz Kanata about ten seconds in, when she proclaimed to be relieved to see him, and _others have already told you as much, but you really are a good man..._ Still, he nervously glances in her direction across the table every now and then, and she always seems to be watching him, calmly and with a smile, but watching nevertheless.

"We're going to have to be careful for a couple of days," announces General Organa, seated next to her, the two having been acting like lifelong friends ever since they first saw each other, "we're already on the lookout for systems to potentially relocate to, but the strategic advantage Illenium offers is still unmatched, of course. We don't know where the First Order is recuperating, and we don't know how many of them actually remain in the sector, yet."

"They did seem incredibly disorganized," Poe nods, Finn trying his damnedest to listen to his actual words, instead of concentrating on the way their thighs brush almost constantly. "But they also knew where to find Maz-"

"Not all that difficult, since I wanted them to find me," Maz smirks.

"Did you now," Leia sighs, a very fond exasperation to say the least.

"It was the only way to gauge their reaction. Learn if they know what I know."

"And?" the General quirks one eyebrow.

"Apparently they do," Maz is still smiling, and Finn wonders silently if it's just a thing for her species – looking so worryingly _serene_ faced with just about anything.

"And what is it that everyone except us seems to know, if you don't mind me asking?" Snap pouts.

"That there's a way to find them, before they find us."

Finn _feels_ Poe freeze next to him, and everyone else grows quiet as well.

"What do you mean?" Finn decides to pipe up, when even Leia seems too taken aback to react immediately, "I spent years with them, and none of us ever even knew where the next base was. They cover their tracks like crazy."

"Exploding their biggest base to date put a bit of a damper on their plans, though," Maz offers yet another one of her tiny mysterious smirks, then continues more firmly, "the Resistance and the Republic have been dancing around each other for years, but it's high time both sides took action – we've all lost too much to wait around. Now that the Republic stands faced with the very _real_ repercussions of downplaying the First Order's power for too long, I have faith that things will finally start moving forth, but we have a unique chance to help that along, while they're crippled."

Finn doesn't miss the look Poe and General Organa exchange, doubtful at best, but also accustomed to snatching up hope wherever they can find it.

"There's a code," Maz explains, "not mine, mind you, but I trust the source. If we manage to introduce it to their system, establish a link both ways, we have access to whatever we need."

"That's impossible," Rikka declares, "we've been trying to hack them for years, and nothing."

Alright, _this time_ Maz is definitely staring _directly_ at him, Finn realizes. He fidgets.

"Not impossible," Maz inclines her head, and it's like she's beckoning Finn – come on, you know.

"Unless... oh!" Finn exclaims, both Poe and Rikka flinching on either side of him. "Do you mean... A dual link, do you think that could do the trick? I mean, that jet tried to kill me like two hours ago, but if we manage to repair it..."

"Make sense of this for me, please?" the General interjects, making Finn's scattered thoughts gain some sort of form.

"Right, uh..." he has the misfortune of glancing to his left, where Poe is looking at him all encouraging and expectant and  _ nice,  _ and it throws him off again for a second before he can continue: "It's a... The only way you can communicate with the main server, any main server, is through a computer linked to it, right? Obviously. But the First Order doesn't let just anyone log in, man, you have to have a billion different clearance codes, and security codes, and passwords... But! We have a half derelict  TIE interceptor standing in the maintenance bay right now, and if we somehow managed to fix it up and get it to communicate with a First Order server, we just might get a chance to establish a link, and even introduce... whatever that code is supposed to be."

"For that, of course, we would need to get  _ near  _ a First Order server, right?" Jessika postulates, "which, unless the rules changed in the past couple of hours, would still be suicide."

Poe's hand finds Finn's silently, without much pomp, warm fingers over his knuckles, but Finn's heart still hammers in his chest as he unfurls his palm and lets their fingers entwine.

"What if it's just floating abandoned in space?" Poe offers, and his thumb draws one reassuring  circle on Finn's wrist.  _ Hi there.  _ _ Well done. _

Maz Kanata, as is her nature, smiles.

 

-

 

He isn't entirely sure at which point it becomes completely unbearable – it might have been that from the very first time Poe dared reach out for him, it might have been at any point during the night, really, sitting close for the entirety of it, but right now, all that matters is that Poe has lost all his concentration ages ago, and his world is filled with everything  _ Finn.  _ God, no one should be that cute just  _ talking  _ to people. No one should be that adorable apologizing for the miniscule scorch marks on their now-shared jacket, and explaining the unfortunate but hilarious jettisoning accident that led to it, blushing when Poe insists that a) it doesn't matter in the slightest, the jacket's been through much worse,  _there's a very noticeable lightsaber burn on the back of it_ , and b) it doesn't change the fact that it continues to look great on Finn.

No one should be that delicious in Poe's general vicinity, period.

It doesn't help that there's alcohol involved again, little to go around when one counts in the sheer number of people willing to celebrate every tiny victory, but coupled with that, the glee and relief they've all long since learned to feel at the slightest hint of a hopeful outcome, it's enough to make them all very light-headed, very soon.

It doesn't help that when Poe dares, after breathing through the decision for a good twenty minutes and waiting for the most opportune moment, to move his hand from Finn's gentle grasp to rest on his knee, the reaction he meets with is a teeny tiny surprised inhale, and then the biggest grin Finn tries and fails desperately to hide in his mug.

 

It doesn't help that when they're finally out of there, what might be ten minutes or ten hours later, and Poe presses Finn into the nearest appropriately dark and abandoned corner, and presses their lips together, that Finn _laughs_ , the most delighted, deligh _ful_ sound, pulling Poe closer by the front of his shirt.

"So I guess we're, uh, still doing... this, then?" he asks breathlessly, hand waving in between Poe and himself, like he needs to make sure that the connection is real.

"I think so, yeah," Poe chuckles, "you okay with it?"

Finn stares at him blankly for the blink of an eye, like he's never been asked the question before.

"Yep," he grins at last.

"Oh, good."

"Yeah, I'm, uh... very okay with it," Finn repeats, mumbled now, as there's barely enough room to take a breath in between them at the moment.

"Excellent."

 

All in all, Poe doesn't  _ really  _ have the faintest idea what he's doing – he knows what he  _ wants _ , true, it's very clear right here at this very moment, but the rest... It's a blur. A blur of being convinced he was going to die up there on that First Order flagship, far away from home, and then being offered a second chance, and falling, falling, until he somehow found himself on solid ground again, with Finn by his side. Finn.

He can't even be sure if that's really his name – Poe's the one who _gave it to him,_ after all. He can't be sure about anything, and neither can Finn, his only memories consisting of First Order drills and nothing before that, but Poe isn't in the habit of questioning things that feel good, he really isn't.

He supposes Finn will start realizing a whole lot of stuff now that he has the opportunity and freedom to do so, and what can Poe really do, aside from hoping that he somehow figures into all that?

Hell, circumstances might have sent them in different directions by this time tomorrow, and they might never see each other again, and there wouldn't even be anything out of the ordinary about it, it happens every single day.

"You okay?"

And alright, thinking way too much, especially considering his _current_ circumstances.

Finn looks a bit worried, but he's warm, and solid, and holding onto Poe like he isn't in the mood for letting go any time soon, his eyes gleaming in the dim glow, the only light coming from the weak LED stripe above their heads. They're somewhere near the maintenance bay still, and Poe marvels at being left alone this long.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I'm... fine," he sighs, hands finding their way underneath the famed jacket, fitting so much better on Finn's broad shoulders, and settling on his chest, the soft fabric of the t-shirt doing very little in the way of diminishing the frankly pretty dizzying heat of his skin.

"You don't have to tell me," Finn smiles the faintest smile, his grip on the back of Poe's jacket easing off, "I just wanna be sure I'm not... that you're not uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable – god," Poe exhales, all air punched out of his lungs at once, it seems, and then a gentler, almost cautious, "Finn..."

He puts some distance in between them, but still maintains contact, because it's _really_ important for him to show Finn that he _does_ want this.

"I don't understand how they didn't _drill this_ out of you."

"Drill what out of me?" Finn frowns, a bit amused, but also not a small bit concerned.

"You're _good,_ " Poe says, because he doesn't really have the capacity to search for different words for it, "you are. They wanted you to be this, this ruthless killing machine, and look at how you've turned out."

Finn inclines his head, a little bit like disbelief, a little bit like even more worry.

"How have I-"

" _ Amazing,  _ is the word you're looking for. And... and  _ human,  _ which I think is the exact opposite of what they wanted. God, you're... Did you ever stop to think what this  _ means? _ "

Finn's eyes are wide with poorly concealed curiosity, but also a bit of glee in there, too.

"You're one of a kind. You are. A fault in their godforsaken  _ programming.  _ General Organa was right, we can count ourselves lucky that you found your way to us."

"I wasn't exactly planning to..." Finn peeps, squirming a bit, but his hands are still a warm, reassuring pressure on the small of Poe's back.

"I know," Poe can't contain his probably somewhat maniacal grin, "I know. Makes it all the more... you know. Astonishing."

Finn huffs an embarrassed laugh, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, and it's a good thing he currently seems incapable of meeting Poe's gaze, because he might very easily get weirded out by the sheer amount of adoration in it, Poe thinks.

"Do you say this to all the stormtroopers you plan on kissing?" Finn mumbles, and Poe snorts, finally daring to move, and cup Finn's cheek, which has the desired, if a bit overwhelming, result, Finn finally looking into his eyes.

"Only the ones who defected and saved my life in the process, believe me," Poe says.

"Cheesy."

"You started it."

Their laughter is shared, and all the more delicious for it, but of course cheesy holovid romance moments don't really last long in real life, and so they're interrupted by footsteps and loud chatter, groups of people finally remembering to exist in this particular corner of the base.

"Come on," Poe chuckles, never letting go of Finn's hand as he leads him away, and they do pass a couple of familiar faces, but nobody seems to notice their somewhat stilted greetings, or pay attention to the fact that they're holding hands like silly teenagers.

The momentary excitement never diminishes, but that doesn't mean that reality decides to cooperate – Poe is stopped on the way by one of his lieutenants with a late-night recon report, and they don't even have the time to decide where they were heading in the first place. Poe has half a mind to send the kid away and tell her he's got more important things to attend to, but it  _ is  _ the middle of the war, and besides, he catches Finn yawning when he doesn't think Poe's looking, and his smile is genuine when he says: "It's fine. I'll catch you tomorrow? You flying out early?"

"Probably. Gotta check out that chunk in space."

"Right. See you when I see you, then?"

"Finn-" Poe blurts out, then remembers his subordinate nearby – but she has the wherewithal to jog ahead, waiting for him by the nearest corridor, pointedly inspecting the ceiling. He makes a mental note to consider her for a promotion sometime soon.

"It's okay. Don't go to bed too late. And, uh... Thank you."

"For the cheesy one-liners?" Poe snickers.

"And the rest of it, too."

"I meant every word," Poe nods, and it's a moment, they both  _ want it  _ to be a moment, but of course, real life and all that.

Before Poe knows it, Finn's leaving, with a stupidly charming wave, and all in all, Poe might be lucky he never got the time to offer him the access code to his room – there's cute, and then there's ridiculously infatuated and ruining your entire blase image by showing it.

Which, tough, because ridiculously infatuated turns out to be his default setting.

 

-

 

Across the courtyard from where Finn and Poe just parted ways, no doubt to be reunited very soon, the wreck of a First Order TIE interceptor sits silently, save for the occasional quiet tinkle of readjusting metal. It is covered with a thick cloth, and so, nobody could see inside even if they really tried, much less just passing by, like the night shift mechanics going about their work and paying the jet little attention.

Thus it is hardly anybody's fault that they don't notice the UID coming alive, dim red emergency lights, completely soundless, the glow soon concentrating into a single diode, tiny but blinking relentlessly all night.

 

And halfway across the sector, a seemingly lifeless cold chunk of metal and rock, only held together by sheer willpower, comes alive. The sound echoes through empty corridors, sealed shut from the relentless vacuum outside, making the strained circuits summon every ounce of energy left within them. There's no one there to receive the message anymore, but it broadcasts nevertheless.

_ Incoming SOS,  _ the alarm forces itself to announce to rent metal and a couple dozen corpses.

_ Fighter in distress,  _ read the cracked displays of what remains of the station's computer.

_ Broadcasting location. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right then! I know we talked about upping that rating sometime soon but OOPS I started having a bit too much fun writing about good old Life At The Resistance Base (tm). I'm taking a loooot of liberties with, well, everything (like giving Jess a qt girlfriend, never enough of those to go around), but having fun while doing it, and I hope you guys are, as well. I've upped the chapter count, too, which might tell you something about the plans, or lack thereof, I have for this fic, but it's fun, it's easy to write, and it's fluffy, so I'm giving it a chance ;D

**Author's Note:**

> Riiiight here we are! I honestly just wanted to jump on the bandwagon and contribute something to this ship - it's kind of exciting to be there at the very beginning of it! This is shameless fluff, and I promise it shall develop into shamelessly delicious fluffy... something else, as well. Did I use the oldest trope in the book and end a chapter with them falling asleep? YOU BET I DID. Hope you enjoyed it!


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